V is for Vulpine
by Tessenchan
Summary: [Oneshot] My second submission for the Summer Alphabet Challenge. Someone close to Charlie has done something awful. Is he crafty enough to find out who?


A/N: Uh... yeah.

Disclaimer: Characters you recognize belong to Cheryl Heuton and Nicolas Falacci and CBS and the Scott brothers and-- well, the point is that they don't belong to me.

V is for Vulpine

"Amita..."

His voice seemed so loud. The room had been so silent before; the only sounds being the ticking of the wall clock, the occasional scribbles of pencil on paper, the clink of Don's beer as he set it back onto the tabletop. When he spoke her name, somehow he made it sound obscene, a linking of profane syllables that dirtied his mouth to even utter. Instantly, a memory from high school English class dug itself from the depths of her mind, a line from Romeo and Juliet: _as if that name, shot from the deadly level of a gun, did murder her._

That was what it was like. Her name hurt for him to speak.

The lady mathematician looked up, eyes wide, to meet Charlie's disapproving gaze. He was wearing that look, that incredulous, reproachful look that said he was disappointed in her. The one he used to give her when she first became his student, when she would give a not-quite-correct answer. Only, it seemed heavier, leaden, and it bored into her with the sharpness of a thousand needles.

"W-what?" she demanded, hands held out. He couldn't possibly suspect her. Not of this heinousness. The brutal, bloody murder of a rich tycoon, and Charlie was looking to her for the explanation. An explanation she didn't have.

"I can't believe you," Charlie said, shaking his head. "How could you?"

At the head of the table, Alan watched quietly, his state bordering on physically uncomfortable. The tension was smothering, slowly filling the room like a thick syrup to suffocate them all. He was only grateful that he wasn't in the middle of it, like Don was.

Don sat beside his brother, his game face on, piercing glare set on Amita. He was the goalie, waiting for her to slip before rushing in to kick her back into play, the final push into forcing her to give something away. But Amita was a friend; she had to know what he was doing, had to be trying her best to avoid even the smallest blunder. Still, Don said nothing. It was Charlie's move.

Between Alan and Don sat Larry, meekly watching the wordless goings-on of the invisible battlefield. He hated that he could say nothing, no words of encouragement or comfort, to either party. But even Larry had to admit when he was unsure; as much as the thought disturbed him, he truly did not know Amita's innocence or guilt. He, like Alan and Don, could only wait for the inevitable outcome.

Charlie looked down at the tabletop, gauging his evidence once more, and then nodded curtly. Picking up Amita's red piece, he dropped her into the Dining Room and set the lead pipe token next to it. "Miss Scarlet, in the Dining Room, with the lead pipe."

Amita kept a straight face, hinting at nothing at she flipped through her cards and discreetly shared one with her former advisor; immediately, a frown of consternation crossed Charlie's face, followed by a barely-audible grunt. As he sat back to record the newly-discovered information, he spied his big brother also scribbling. Larry and Alan also seemed to be considering their evidence sheets.

Seeing this, Charlie squinted at them dubiously. "What are you writing down?"

"Hn?" Alan looked up, blinking at his younger son past his reading glasses. The action, one which Charlie knew to be a tactic to throw him off, didn't faze him in the least. Ever persistent, Alan shook his head. "Nothing."

"She showed you Scarlet," Don said monotonously. The youngest Eppes' mouth dropped open, even as Amita struggled to stifle the smile that bubbled up onto her face, and both Alan and Larry sent simultaneous apologetic glances in his direction. Don lifted his head, the corners of his mouth tugging in response to his brother's expression, and he shrugged. "Face it, Chuck: you're not very good at this game."

"I'd have to agree with your brother, Charles," Larry told his colleague. "After that unnecessary and ostentatious demonstration, not to mention your exceedingly visible disappointment after Amita's reply... Your assumptions about the contents of the envelope were well understood by the rest of the party." Charlie's eyebrows furrowed in question, to which the cosmologist only supplied a vigorous nod.

"You never could play this game, Charlie," said Alan deliberately, giving his son a sympathetic shrug. "You have absolutely no poker face."

The curly-haired man leaned back in his chair with a groan, rolling his eyes. "Whose turn is it?"

"Mine." As Amita picked up the dice she tipped her head, glaring at the board with mock indignation. "Now, to begin my long trek back across the board to the Library. And who do I have to thank for that?"

As if taking proud responsibility for her accusation, Charlie folded his hands behind his head. "Hey, that's how the game is played," he teased, shrugging his shoulders. Amita lifted her eyebrows expectantly, not believing his explanation for a second; shortly thereafter, Charlie proved her correct. "Besides, you dragged my Plum guy all the way from the Hall to the Ballroom."

"Ouch, revenge move." Amita stuck her tongue out at him playfully and went on with her rolling, finding herself in the Ballroom. "Wouldn't ever want to be on the receiving end of an Eppes grudge."

Don shook his head. "You have _no_ idea."

"Mr. Green, in the Ballroom, with the candlestick," Amita suggested, drawing her feet up to rest on the edge of her chair and locking her arms around her knees. At her left, Alan shuffled through his cards, and then Larry, before the job finally fell to Don to disprove her. The agent flipped up one card, which Amita made note of before she handed the dice to Alan and spoke again. "So," she began, "I heard that Keith Allen confessed."

Alan looked up at his two boys as he rolled his move; both of them seemed a little weary, of nothing in particular except maybe work in general. He hadn't heard many details about the latest case; all he knew was that Don had brought four boxes of financial records for Charlie to look at, and that the professor had forgotten where his bed was for a day or two. He was fairly certain the same could be said for Don, who forgot where his apartment was for the most part.

He had even wondered the good sense of having Amita and Larry over for a game when both of the boys looked like they were ready to sack out on the couch and sleep for the rest of the week. But after getting a little dinner into them, they had brightened considerably and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Presently, Larry had answered Alan's suggestion and rolled himself, setting his white-clad character into the Kitchen. (It struck Alan a little odd when Larry's choice of Mrs. White resulted in amused giggles from the other three players. After all, she wasn't food.) Flipping the face of one evidence card towards the cosmologist, Don nodded. "Yeah, Charlie really pulled that one outta thin air."

Charlie, his head dropped back and eyes closed, didn't bother moving to add in his two cents. "It's not like I drew a map and stuck it over his head."

"You might as well have. That was pretty crafty, kiddo."

The younger brother smirked. "Hey, I still have a trick or two up my sleeve."

"It's your roll, Donnie."

"Aaah.." Don examined the board, picking out the pieces. Scarlet and Green in the Ballroom; Peacock wandering the Conservatory; Mustard and White flitting between the Study and the Kitchen; and finally Plum hanging out in the Dining Room where Charlie had left him last turn. A quick rundown of his evidence sheet showed that everyone had been found except Green and that the most likely weapon was the rope, but the rooms... That remained a mystery.

"Me, with the rope in the Ballroom," he quipped, sipping his beer and waiting for Charlie to either prove or disprove. At his side, his brother was struggling to hold down a smirk, before lifting his hand to show Don...

_Mr. Green...? But..._ Once more, Don looked down at his evidence sheet, at the neatly scribbled-in boxes. Marking off Green had marked off everyone, so what was there left in the envelope? Immediately Don felt a cold stab in his stomach. The only card he hadn't seen for himself was... _Brat. He tricked me._

"I'm gonna go ahead and make an accusation," announced Charlie.

"Weasel," remarked Don, leaning into his palm with a mock cold expression. Charlie only grinned at him; obviously he quite relished the thought of having outsmarted his older brother, and didn't even care that the charade hadn't lasted until the final moments. Charlie knew that Don knew, and he didn't really care.

"Miss Scarlet, in the Hall, with the rope."

Having proclaimed it to all present, Charlie opened the envelope to check, and then the smile broadened and he tossed down three cards: Scarlet, hall, rope. Alan gawped.

"Way to go, Charlie."

"I have to admit, I am inclined to side with Don." Larry's face twisted into a grimace that was somehow partly the amusement of a good sport and the irritation of a mentor that had been outsmarted by a student. "You vulpine little..."

"This game is all about strategy, Fleinhardt." Charlie laughed. "And clearly, _faking it_ after overreacting for three lost games in a row is a good strategy." Charlie grinned at his brother. "I can be pretty crafty when I need to be."

Don simply nodded. "I let you win 'cause I'm tired. Weasel."

END


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